Got A Secret
by ForsakenKalika
Summary: A prompt from SkyeMoor which beget this crack!drabble. "Snape's been lying... to everyone, it seems." Well, in my head, maybe one more person is in on it. M for implied content and language.
1. Chapter 1

SkyeMoor gave me a prompt. I love prompts, you don't even know how much. By the way, have you read Skye's ongoing HP fic "Nobody Ever Asked My Birthday"? You should. You REALLY should.

This is definitely, firmly in crack!fic territory. If you're phobic, kindly fuck your way back out of this drabble, because this is not for you.

M rating for content.

Prompt: Snape's been lying... to everyone, it seems

Standard disclaimers apply because I'm a broke bitch.

* * *

Severus Tobias Snape. Man, myth, bane of students everywhere, was pissed. No, not pissed off, _pissed_. Drunk, three sheets to the wind, schnockered, schlitzed. Tumbling through the Floo, tripping approximately half the distance of his sitting room, and knocking into the low coffee table in front of his couch, he was _pissed_.

The Floo roared green again, burning his eyes through his closed lids and making the room spin further. "Really, Snape? You just - _hic_ \- you just left?!" The shrill frequency of the harpy before him made him gurgle a reply from his spot half-on but mostly off the lumpy, roughly upholstered furniture. "Do you even _know_ how difficult it was to shove my tits into this thing?"

One dark eye cracked open as he turned his face to the guest now cupping a rather large handful of their own breasts stuffed into a questionable Slytherin green bustier. "Do yer knickers match?" Severus slurred. The internal voice which often kept him from saying anything as low-brow, especially to a former student, just giggled in the recesses of his spectacularly inebriated head.

A weight settled on the cushion next to his face and he reached one elegant hand out to grasp what felt like a fabric-covered knee. "If you weren't worse off than I am, I'd have told you to check - stop that, you lecher!" His hand was slapped sharply, interrupted in its path up the thigh of his guest.

"You tol' me to check." Severus grumbled petulantly into the cushion, the musty smell of which caused him to gag slightly. A hand was at his back rubbing between his shoulder blades comfortingly while his guest Accioed a bucket for him just in time.

Ron - Ronata, for the night - Weasley sighed while the dour potions master spewed the contents of his stomach. "If I had known you'd have gotten this pissed, I wouldn't have even bothered with the Transition Draught." With that, she stood and dragged her way to the downstairs bath of the Snape residence, tugging her earrings out and letting her hair down.

"'Mione worked so hard on this, too," she grumbled, staring at her sad blue eyes in the steaming mirror while the bath filled. While the bushy-headed Gryffindor hadn't understood why exactly she was styling her best mate's hair, the novelty of seeing Ron - er - Ronata in full ball regalia ("You're a gir - good Godric, your tits! Ron, your tits! They are making eye contact!") had been just enough motivation to doll him - rather _her_ \- up for the evening.

Based on Snape's reaction when Ronata had made her debut at the Memorial Ball, the ginger just knew her best friend had put two and two together. Well, it seemed the niffler was out of the bag, at least for one person. She sighed again, forlorn.

She was just climbing in the tub when Severus flailed through the door, nearly causing her to topple into the water and concuss herself. "You know," he began, looking to her right. _Oh great, he's seeing double_. "I've always had a thing for redheads." With those words, he lunged for the toilet and further emptied his stomach.

To her credit, Ronata just sighed again, and began lathering up her hair. "And they say romance is dead." Severus heaved once more before passing out with his face on the seat and she cringed. "It's not dead. It's blackout drunk."


	2. Chapter 2

I had this sitting around in my files and I realized this would be great for whatever universe spawned 'Got A Secret'. Just some Romione friendship, a couple years after the war, about a year before 'Got A Secret'. I'm honestly surprised by the response lol

Stuff: adult language and shit.

Disclaimer: standard applies.

* * *

 _ **Paradise Lost**_

 _ **Golden couple call it quits!**_

 _While many of our dear readers, much like myself, were enjoying the end of their work week, the same could not be said for Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. The war heroes were spotted out Friday evening-_

"When were we dating?" The redhead next to Hermione asked in a hail of crumbs and confusion. Having been rendered impervious to her disgust in Fourth Year, Ron continued crunching his toast, meeting her glare with a blank blue stare. Finally, she relented with a smack to his head, making him yelp and choke slightly.

"Never with those manners," Hermione drawled, not at all minding the scene her best friend was making while he gasped dramatically and dribbled his juice. A particularly long slurp had her giggling helplessly. "You're a bit of a mess, mate. I could never date all," her hand waved the length of his body in lieu of her words.

"Oi!" Ron playfully flicked a few crumbs her way before standing and dusting off his lap. "If I'm a 'bit of a mess,'" he said with air quotations, "It's because I don't have my 'shameless harpy' of an ex to hex me into good manners." Hermione's nose crinkled while she snorted at the reminder of one of Skeeter's previous attempts to discredit her name. Ron rinsed his plate off, placing it in the sink, and spun around to lean against it to gaze at his female best mate. "Why is this bothering you, 'Mione?"

"It doesn't bother you to have your life all over the papers? We went out of our way to scout that club out, and still there was someone there willing to take pictures and sell them for the best offer." Tucking in her stool, she met his worries eyes and sighed. "I'm sick to death of it, truly. I just want privacy."

To his credit, Ron said nothing in reply. Instead he opened his arms to one of his best friends and let her sink against his chest. He was already running his calloused hand along her curls when the first sob came. His arse was numb by the time she had cried herself out, the edge of the counter having dug into an old war injury some tens of minutes before. Still, though, he let her lean upon him, listening to the steady thu-thud of his heartbeat though his jumper.

When Ron finally spoke, she felt it more than heard it, the rumble of his voice sending vibrations across her face. He always smelled good, she realized a moment later. Not Amortentia good, but like comfort. "I can't feel my arse."

'Ladies and gentlemen, Ronald Weasley,' she thought with an airy chuckle as she moved off of him. With his crooked smile and dancing cornflower blue eyes, Ron had the easy ability to make her heart thud in her chest a bit, the way one's first real love does. They had tried, after the War, but ultimately gave up after a week of awkward snogging and one bad blowjob. Still, a part of her would always be that adolescent girl at Hogwarts, maddeningly in love with her best friend. Even if he was almost as fond of cock as she was.

"You excited?" He asked, arms still laid over her shoulders. Hermione smiled up at him, crinkling up her face, and nodded.

"I'm going to miss us all living together, but you know I couldn't stay. You're great, but no good for getting me a date, and Harry and Gin really need their space." The two friends shared a look and laughed, Hermione's previous melancholy pushed aside. "You wanna see the place?" Within five minutes, they were flooing to her new flat.


End file.
